


girls gather 'round

by deadlybride



Series: Milk Carton Kids [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drinking, Episode: s03e09 Malleus Maleficarum, F/M, Season/Series 03, implied threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-07-22 05:26:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7421707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadlybride/pseuds/deadlybride
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>February 3, 2008. Dean distracts himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	girls gather 'round

**Author's Note:**

> The Milk Carton Kids - Live at Lincoln Theatre, track seven

_Girls, gather 'round_  
_and let that long hair down_  
_Sing along with me before I go._  
_Let us have a drink and, by god,_  
_don't let us think about_  
_the things that we ain't ever gonna know._

 

The waitress slides another four shots onto their table and Maggie lets out a little cheer, tucked in tight under Dean's arm. "You'll love these, I promise," she says, leaning up to his ear, her breasts pressed soft against his side. She slams hers back, quickly, then picks up a second glass and presses it right up to Dean's mouth, tilts so he's got no choice but to swallow it down in a sticky-blue gulp.

He shudders, the shot going down like syrupy fire—what in God's name are they putting in these things, he wants ten—but he grins anyway, meets Shayla's eyes across table. "Delicious, sweetheart," he says, and Shayla bites the glossy corner of her mouth, coquettish and obvious.

"You can have mine," Sam says, and—oh, of course, dorky little brother isn't going to join in.

"Come on, they really are tasty," Maggie says, and Shayla helpfully demonstrates, leans in close so Sam can get an eyeful down her barely-there top when she takes her shot, tosses her head back and gulps it down like a champ. Sam doesn't take the bait—shocker—just smiles at Maggie and shrugs, one foot on the floor like he's ready to run out of here, be anywhere else.

Well, fuck that. "Don't waste your time, ladies," Dean says, and hooks Shayla around the waist so she slides right off her stool and onto his knee. She yelps but her arm instantly goes around his neck, pretty polished nails scratching under the collar of his shirt and, yeah, he's in there. He meets Sam's eyes. "Sammy here's too busy to have a good time, isn't that right."

"Boo," Maggie says, pouty, but Dean's not paying attention because Sam's eyes have gone hard, his mouth a tight line. "Well, we'll just have to have enough fun for all of us," she says, hand slipping over Dean's thigh, and he tangles a hand in the long fake-bright river of her hair, leans down and covers her little squeal of delight with his mouth.

There's a dead coven in their rearview mirror and it's cold as shit outside, and Dean's got a secret he doesn't want to keep that’s making him guilty as hell. He's keeping that last little tidbit from Ruby close to the chest—and so what. It's his life, not Sam's. It's not like it'd do Sam any good, anyway. He'd just fight harder, yell louder, nearly kill himself trying to take this bullet for Dean, and for what. Dean’ll burn either way. He doesn't want to think about it. Doesn't want to think at all. He just wants this: booze, girls, a good time. And, frankly, if Sam wants to join in—but when Maggie backs off to breathe Dean glances up over her head to find Sam determinedly watching the Bulls on the TV behind the bar, the bitch.

Shayla turns his head her way and kisses him in her turn, and he slips a hand along her inner thigh, licks up into her mouth and lets her grind down against his leg. Maggie giggles, tucks her hand into his back pocket, says, "Sam, you sure you don't want to join us?"

Dean pulls back from Shayla's frankly incredible tongue to see Sam turn a regretful smile Maggie's way. Faker. "I actually have a headache," he says, the  _liar_ , that's the worst excuse in the history of excuses. He shrugs a little, looks at Dean. "You guys should have a good time."

Shayla humsagainst Dean's cheek. "I think we will," she says, and then she slides off his knee, catches Maggie's hand, heads off to the ladies' room with a "Don't go anywhere!" tossed over her shoulder.

Dean drags a hand through his hair, watches the sway of their hips as they walk away. Sam lets out a little half-laugh at something, barely audible under the shitty country song that's playing, but if he disapproves Dean doesn't want to hear it. The sun's long down and they're here, in a wild-ass bar full of college kids, kids looking to fuck and drink and forget about their worries, forget about the pain of knowing,  _knowing_ , that there's nothing to be done. That death's the only thing waiting, with the guarantee of horror after. He reaches out and steals Sam's shot, knocks it back in one swallow and slides to his feet. He sways a little, has to grab the table for balance, but then Sam's right there, a big hand closing over Dean's elbow, keeping him steady.

"All right?" Sam says.

Dean closes his eyes. Eighty-eight days left. It's worth it, he knows it is. The reason his whole life revolves around. "Yeah, Sammy," he says, and pushes away.


End file.
